One August Night.

The image still haunts me inside my head. Tonight is one of those nights when it is back, a haunting reminder of life and death. The goosebumps and chills I get from the unforgettable image recurs occasionally. One August night, my sister and I were driving back from fellowship. We were both tired and couldn’t wait to get home. We pulled off the highway onto Leslie St. We notice a raccoon not much bigger than a squirrel, probably a baby, crossing in the middle of the road far ahead. Suddenly, a car behind us stepped on the gas and went ahead. The baby coon, oblivious to the speeding vehicle, slows down, and takes a look, right in the path of the car. As I looked on with horror, a sickening feeling churned my stomach, as I anticipated what was to happen. The car sped past, covering, and uncovering the raccoon. I couldn’t help but watch closely. As the baby came into view, it was on its back, involuntary spasms all over its body, as it jolts and jerk around in the middle of the road. It was sickening to watch, as I stared out the window, the raccoons cry for help muted by the tight suction of the window. I felt so helpless.. I thought the raccoon was just frightened beyond belief, filled with adrenaline, for I was sure the raccoon was under the car frame and not run over. My sister cried out, and asked me if we should stop. I pondered, and thought against it. For one, we would be stopping in the middle of the road, and walking across it to pick up a raccoon. On top of that, how would we be able to help it anyways? And aren’t many wild raccoons rabid? 

After what seemed to be a rational thought process, I advised my sister against it, as I thought I saw a car coming behind us, and we don’t want to get killed ourselves. So we drove on, glancing back at the helpless raccoon. Then a second car ran passed it. I turned away. It sickened me. 

My sister rationed that we could’ve saved the raccoon, and probably rescue it to the side of the road. I was lost and grievous. Even if most people consider a pest, animals are special to me, and there is always a soft spot in me for cute small animals. Now, did I just voluntarily help kill an innocent animal, a baby one? 

The thought bothered me all night, as the image of the crying raccoon remains in my head. Its appeal for someone, anyone to help rescue it from the brink of death.

Was there enough time to save the coon? Was I right in telling my sister to move on?

To this day, I still remember the baby raccoon’s feeble struggle, jolting around in fright. Helpless.

And all it really wanted to do was cross the road. It was probably hungry.